Tales From My Past - That'll Learn Ya...

I used to be a waiter, back when the world was young and Noah hadn't yet learned what a cubit was. It was a good gig right out of college, cash business, never too many hours at work, could take the day off when I wanted to. Not a real climb-the-ladder career, though, so I had to give it up.
   But not before I had some fun. At someone else's expense.
   There were many personalities in the restaurant, single mother, smart-alec and underemployed college grads like me, felons, burn-outs, people on their way to something else. A melting pot. We had one lady in particular, who used to be an accountant but had ended up a waiter. DR we called her, for her initials. She was pleasant enough to be around, but she was stickler for the rules. She worked as a cashier too, and you always had to have your papers in order or it was trouble for sure. By-the-book is what I'm trying to say.
   Except for one particular Friday night. DR was working on the North side of the restaurant, but the dish area was on the South side. Protocol called for waiters to take dirty dishes through the dining room, North to South, rather than come through the server alley because it was just too congested to have people dodging the debris from bussed tables.
   DR decided that rule didn't apply to her. She was at the very, very front of the restaurant, about as far from the dish area as you could get without going outside, and she carried her trays of empty plates right through the server alley. And DR didn't dance around people, she was a big girl and bulled right through.
   I asked her not to do it, to go through the dining room instead. I heard at least three other waiters ask her the same thing, some much more politely than I. DR wouldn't hear it. She had to go through the server alley for some reason.
   Friday night wore on and the restaurant became crowded. Full house of customers and full staff of waiters. And DR insists on endangering everyone by charging through the server alley with a large tray of dishes held high. Right towards the dish area where the floor had become soaking wet with soapy water from an overflowing dish washing machine.
   In my mind I can still see happen it like I'm standing by the soda fountain. I hear the North door slam open. I see DR practically running through the alley towards me and the dish area, a butch-cut tractor plowing a furrow through her fellow waiters. I glance at the sopping wet floor. I think, for just a moment, that I should tell DR to slow down. I decide against it. She comes forward like a wide-hipped freight train. She gets one step into the puddle. Two steps.
   And then... it's like a cartoon. Her feet slip, and then she starts to bicycle pedal. In mid-air. I swear to all I hold holy this is true. Her feet move frantically as she tries to keep her balance and keep from spilling the thirty pounds of dishes she has on her tray. Then... both her legs go rigid - straight out in front of her - and she's suspended in mid-air. Nothing between her and the floor but atmosphere.
   She hits the floor and dishes go EVERYWHERE. Crash, bang, crash, clatter, splinter, with the metallic tinkle of silverware and the brittle cracking of glasses added to the symphony of destruction. Being a big girl DR has a lot of momentum, which carries her into the garbage cans where we discarded food and then UNDER the dish counter.
   Out of nowhere, Christine - very sexy Christine who played softball and wore the most amazing perfume - appears and shouts 'Safe!' I spent the next ten minutes laughing out loud.
   The only thing DR hurt was her considerable pride. And her pants got soaked. And she broke about $200 worth of dishware, wholesale. But for the rest of the night and every shift after that she went through the dining room. The hardest lessons learned are often the best lessons learned.
   Ah... good times, good times. But I am so glad I'm not a waiter any more.